Mórrígan's Dirge
by Gryphon Hall
Summary: A death knight's journey to remember her past.
1. Prologue

I groan in my troubled sleep and open my eyes. Myrrh is kneeling by my bedside, her head buried in her arms. She is finally asleep, poor child. The plague in those Wintergrasp barrels were potent, making me very ill. Thank Elune... thank the Light that the Argent Dawn can treat this—I shall not turn into undead.

War will always have its casualties. But in times like these, when I am at my weakest, I often bitterly curse my losses. Mórrígan... Oh, my Mórrígan! If only I had not been so foolish!

=================

It was the eve of the invasion of Northrend. The Beta Expeditionary Force, already there, were already engaged in numerous battles. Fresh from my victories in the battles against Magtheridon and Gruul, I had grown arrogant. "Ærynn and her stormcrow Mórrígan have a new grisly trophy!"

I had heard that Naxxramas' hold on the plaguelands was slipping. Of course, with Northrend so threatened, it was natural that Naxxramas would retreat to reinforce their holdings.

But I did not want them to retreat. At least, not yet. I longed to go to Naxxramas and gain even more glory.

A few shared my feelings; all of us found ways to find the hidden entrance deep in the eastern plaguelands. We want to in before they escaped Lordaeron forever! Oh, what did we hope to accomplish? Those more powerful than we have gone in, and have either returned as embittered veterans or returned not at all. Yet here we were, sneaking into the dread citadel itself, hunting for the glory of bringing back Kel'thuzad's head.

We all went through the portal, but on the other end was only Mórrígan and myself. Even then I should have heeded the warning in my heart. The sudden gloom was like a physical presence. The sounds of skittering feet and the distant wails of those who were being tormented drove me almost to terror. Walking around the circular vestibule, I found a madman, claiming to be a wizard and high elf (though he looked neither), wailing bitterly about a staff and how it was taken from him and broken.

Summoning my courage (or was it just hubris?), Mórrígan and I attempted to kill some of the giant spiders in one wing. We were thrashed to an inch of our lives, and only by feigning death were we able to escape.

After mending our wounds, I told Mórrígan that we will spend the night at the entrance near the "elf" and attempt to sneak past the mob. I am quite sure that if I can get close enough to Kel'thuzad, I can kill him, take his head and trigger my hearthstone to escape. Mórrígan, my Mórrígan was not so sure. She was agitated and wanted to fly away—she kept hearing voices all around us.

As we lay down to sleep, I saw a small, living cat looking at us with glowing eyes.

=================

I awoke in pain and nothingness, that is, I felt unbearable pain everywhere, but I felt that I had no body to feel that pain. I could make out two people talking.

"Yes, my lord," said a tremulous voice. "Another one of these 'adventurers'. A nightelf."

"What fools," said a loud whisper. "And they are trapped, lich? They cannot get out?"

"No, my lord," the first answered. "There are... enough of them to fully satisfy the needs of Acherus. It only remains to slay them properly and... transport them."

"Very good, Lich. Not all of them, though. Some are weak; too weak to even use as ghouls. This one, for instance," and here I felt a sharp, painful throb everywhere but nowhere, "can safely be left to rot."

"But, oh..." continued the harsh whisper. "Not this one... Not thisss one."

"Which, my lord?" his servant asked, confused. "The stormcrow? This hunter's bird?"

"No... not a bird... oh, no... not a bird. One who has lost... hurm... forrrrgotten herself. Her... true shape... Yessssss... I sssee ssstrength here! Be sure that this one reaches Razuvious. Be sure to begin... persuading her."

"It shall be done, my lord."

=================

Who had they been talking about?

Moments? Days? Weeks? I lost track of time. But, Mórrígan and I, we escaped. Or, rather, we were rescued. My daughter Myrrh and Mr. Vault petitioned an Avatar of the Great Blizzard to free me and all those trapped within. No... those voices were not talking about Mórrígan. She was right there beside me when we were restored. But Mórrígan, my poor stormcrow... she was never the same.

From being the most powerful of my beast companions, she fell into a deep melancholy and never left the stables. Every night, when I went to her, she would look into my face, showing much more intelligence and awareness, and also much more sadness than I have ever known her to show.

My marching orders came late, and I could not join my guild in Northrend. But I took Mórrígan to the Stormwind harbor, hoping the sea breezes would do her good. Together, we would watch the sun go down behind the tall lighthouse.

A week had passed and I had recovered; Mórrígan hasn't. I finally got my marching orders, and prepared to board a ship to the Borean Tundra. I had left Mórrígan behind.

As I waited for the ship, a druid walked toward me. She was dark and gaunt, and very sad.

"Ærynn," she said. "I am sorry, but I must leave. He calls to me... I hear his voice. I... I must obey."

When I turned toward her, she had already disappeared. Who was she? I thought she mistook me for someone else, but Myrrh told me later that that was the last time Mórrígan was ever seen. Then I understood. So... he took her after all. Gave her back her senses, then took her.

Since then, I had fought in every engagement against the Lich King. I knew what he turned her into.

He will pay.


	2. Mórrígan

_Now _that_ was a waste of a pretty good banana!_

"The banana was rotten, Teia. You wouldn't have eaten it," I said quietly.

_Well still, she shouldn't have thrown it at you. Now your armor is ruined!_

"It's okay. Really." It was just a banana, after all.

The refugees made their way up to the gates and into the streets of the city. Some galloped past, hoping to evade the ugly looks with speed. But most went as slowly and non-threateningly as they possibly could, blades sheathed, helm strapped on... eyes downcast. I was part of this latter group, and it seemed our docility encouraged the mob to be bold.

"TRAITOROUS DOG!" cried one Stormwind guard amidst the jeers and catcalls of the crowd. Aristeia was bristling with indignation at everything but she, like we, could do nothing for the moment.

When we caught up with those who went ahead, we found them crowding at the final bend just before the actual keep; we had the letter after all. Market crowds and the small contingent of guards may have been able to fling insults with rotten fruit, but they were not brave enough to attack the group. But inside the keep were the King's crack troops and we had no intention of fighting.

Suddenly, from one of the houses, a woman ran towards us, arms raised. "Monster!" she cried. "My family... My family was wiped out by the Scourge!" She pounded her fists on the nearest armored chest. A young man (maybe her son) was trying to pull her away.

"Damn you all! Damn you! Bring them back!"

No ma'am... you would not want them brought back. I know that much.

* * *

Three months ago, I was brought back against my will. Or, at least, I know I was brought back from some previous _life_, but my memories only start now from the moment I realized I was lying on a cold stone floor. How long had I been lying there? I don't know... but I gradually began to think that maybe I should get off the floor and try to stand up. I remember feeling something flowing slowly over my body, gradually spreading from my head to my limbs, even before I could do anything but stir. When I finally pushed myself off the ground I was too weak to stand, so I kneeled where I was and brought my head up.

The first thing I remember seeing in that blackness was the bright blue of crystal armor and a cold face peering at me.

"How goes it?" the face quietly asked. I remember seeing two darkly clad ladies nearby.

"She seems to remember nothing," one of them replied, after waving a hand over my face. "But we'll know for sure soon enough."

"Place upon it the trappings befitting a herald of Arthas," said the face. What was left of my clothes were roughly torn off by one of the dark ladies, then the other helped me into my new clothes. Her manner in handling the dark trappings was slow and reverent. When this was done, the Face waved her away and stepped to where I was. I was about to ask where I was—_who_ I was—when his voice boomed in that hollow chamber.

"**Alright, that's enough! **Listen, death knight... Listen for the voice of your master. He calls you now. Stand and be measured! Rise, for your master awaits your arrival." For the briefest moment I looked into his eyes, and he glared into mine, before he snarled "GO NOW!"

His voice reverberated through me, and before I could even think about what I was doing, I was running down the corridor he indicated. I met other darkly clad figures as I ran. I saw winged creatures and hideous shapes in the darkness. I ran until I felt rain on my cheeks and then stopped. I knew I was outside, but it was taking a while for my eyes to adjust. Gradually, I saw a dark figure leaning over the balcony, gauntleted hands gripping the rails.

I did not feel any sort of terror as the dark figure turned to face me. I felt empty... hollow. I was there but nowhere. All feeling and emotion was bled out of me. All that existed on that balcony was him and his sharp sword. All that existed in my head were a jumble of muttered and whispered thoughts, all meaningless—none that I can make out.

Finally, the thoughts formed into words, "All that I am: anger, cruelty, vengeance - I bestow upon you, my chosen knight. I have granted you immortality so that you may herald in a new, dark age for the Scourge."

The dark figure then beckoned me to where he stood. Again, thoughts coalesced into words… something about the Plaguelands and a Scarlet Crusade, seething anger towards a chapel... at that time, it was not so clear and I made no attempt to understand. I knew I had to obey. I heard his sword's metallic ring before I saw it.

I faced him, looking at the blade pointed at my heart. I think I felt a twinge of fear then, but I was startled when I heard his hissing voice for the first time coming from underneath the dark helmet. "You will become my force of retribution. Where you tread, doom will follow. Go now and claim your destiny, _death knight_."

* * *

A slap brought me out of my reverie. "Where's my Allan?! Where is he? Where are they? Bring them back!" The woman finally sank onto the cobblestones, sobbing pitifully, her son still trying to pull her away. I reflexively reached out to help her up but young man slaps my hand away, then spits into my face.

Aristeia hissed indignantly.

"Don't you _dare_," he said. "Don't _you_ dare! You... you and your kind... you disgust me!"

As he led the woman away, from a window above us, another woman shrieked. "Just go away! Leave us alone, will you? Just go away!"

The death knight who was first attacked by the grieving woman suddenly called out, "Column formation, two abreast. _Now_."

We were well trained, and in the blink of an eye, we were transformed from a band of refugees into a fighting unit once again. I found myself beside him as we rode the final distance to the keep. "Edgar," I asked. "Are you alright?"

"She lost her son and he lost a brother," he said, his voice distant, not even listening to me. "Poor people... I am so sorry."

"How did you know that? She told you, did she?" I asked. Edgar looked confused.

"Hmmmmmm... no. No, she did not."

"Then how did you know?" I asked again. "I'm not sure... I don't know how... I just know." I understood—all death knights had fleeting glimpses of past lives and familiar memories just out of reach.

We dismounted in front of the guards and held our hands up. One of us (the letter bearer) stepped forward and proclaimed that we were seeking an audience with the King and that we bore a letter from Sir Tirion Fordring.

"You are expected!" cried their captain. "But not welcome! Proceed! I warn you to make no attempt to draw your accursed blades!"

As we marched up the long hallway, we heard mutterings amongst the gathered nobles. "Looks like we're going to have ourselves an execution... or several!" chuckled one of them. Aristeia hissed again.

_Great! Just great! I thought we were all finally on the same side!_

"That's enough, Teia!" I whispered. "Let's wait and see what happens after King Varian reads the letter."

We watched as the letter was handed to the armored and armed king, and we awaited our doom.


End file.
